We were ambling home through the residential flats south of Hollywood when Gina remembered that she need to buy a bag of potting soil for the various vegetables she's planted in pots on our balcony and around the flowerbeds in the front of the building.
It does no good for me to explain that there's plenty of dirt there already, as it is apparently the "wrong kind" of dirt. (I've grown vegetables left and right in that same dirt, when I lived in a house nearby, but experience never trumps female intuition, I suppose....)
So we detoured to Mordigan's Nursery and picked up a bag of commercial dirt, which just for fun I draped over Trevor's rack like some mighty nimrod's vanquished prey....
So Trevor had to work on his day off after all, poor laddie.